Starlet
by labyrinths
Summary: Scarlett is hellbent on becoming a movie star. Rhett is a producer. Just a few vignettes of Gone with the Wind, but set in 1940s-50s Hollywood. No linear plot.
1. Chapter 1

**Starlet **

**by Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

Scarlett is hellbent on becoming a movie star. Rhett is a producer. Just a few vignettes of Gone with the Wind, but set in 1940s-50s Hollywood. No linear plot and I don't know how many I'll write.

* * *

**A Man with a Reputation**

_1947_

"My dear, don't you know? That's Rhett Butler."

"Is he an actor?"

Cathleen Calvert shook her head. "Theater producer."

Scarlett made a face at that. Bah. The theater. Hollywood, movies, that was what mattered to her. Who cared about musty old plays written by dead men? But then Cathleen spoke again.

"He has the most terrible reputation."

"Oh?" Scarlett said, trying to sound disinterested, though she had to admit the dark-haired man had piqued her interest, if just a tad.

She'd heard him talking a little while earlier. These days, the only thing anyone seemed to talk about was the studio system and whether a certain antitrust suit doing the rounds at the Supreme Court was going to cause them grief. Scarlett O'Hara did not care one wit about the Supreme Court, but she'd found herself amused by Butler's comments. He said that the studio system was bound to fail soon and critiqued the "million-dollar mediocrities" spilling out of the major studios, while also taking a jab at the Hays Code. It had folks fuming, as everyone at the party was in the payroll of Studio Six, and one didn't badmouth the studio system when there were about a dozen studio execs walking around, but Scarlett was secretly pleased with the man's comments. She had a six-year contract with Studio Six and had signed with the hopes of becoming one of their new, shiny starlets, but top brass had yet to offer her more than a couple of meager screen tests and a few walking roles.

Cathleen didn't need more of an incentive. "He's from New York, but has been having to spend most of his time in Europe because his folks won't even speak to him. He was expelled from university, he's so fast. And then there's that business about that girl he photographed."

"Tell, tell," Scarlett said eagerly.

"He took indecent pictures of a starlet. And then, her studio found out! They cut her contract to little pieces and when she made a scene and demanded that she get him a contract with another studio – he has contacts everywhere, that he does – he said he would not, and said it was her own fault for agreeing to have the pictures taken in the first place! Her agent tried to pick a fight with Butler, and he socked him in the eye. It was all over the New York papers."

"Have you seen the pictures?" she asked.

"No. But her career is ruined, all the same."

Despite herself, Scarlett found herself feeling some sympathy for a fellow who hadn't taken any nonsense from an annoying starlet. She glanced at the man and then he glanced at her, and, why, he had the gall to wink at her! She turned her back towards the man, irritated.


	2. Chapter 2

Another vignette.

* * *

**Dressing the Part**

_1950_

"Oh, Rhett, it's darling," she said, holding up the dress before the mirror and eyeing herself critically. It was a gorgeous silk creation, but it would show her back, contravening the dress code she was subjected to. "But I can't possibly wear it in public."

"Why not?" he asked.

He was idly lounging by the door to her dressing room, smoking a cigarette and eyeing her with a raised eyebrow.

"You know why," she said. "Doc Meade would have a fit."

Doc Meade wasn't _really_ a doctor anymore, but everyone called him that on account of his medical practice which had been interrupted when he made a foray into the film business many years before. In Hollywood, all kinds of people ended up in the film business. Samuel Goldwyn had been a glove seller before he founded Paramount, so it was not so odd to imagine that a man who had once prescribed tonics had turned to movies to make a living. _Wholesome_ movies. Doc Meade, like all other studio heads, carefully crafted the image of his performers and Scarlett, it had been determined, was to play the ingénue on and off the screen.

"How long are you going to allow that fellow to give you second-rate roles playing children?"

"Oh, they're not second-rate roles," she shot back, tossing the dress back in its box. "I'll have you know I just finished shooting _Little Women_."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she realized that she had only reinforced his ideas about her movie roles. Of course, he _was_ right. It had been one thing to play children at sixteen, when she'd first arrived in Los Angeles, but that was three years before and if she didn't get more mature roles, she'd never get any leads, either.

"If you don't want the dress I'll take it away and give it to a more appreciative woman."

"You wouldn't!" she said.

Oh, the dress was just made for her. It was a perfect shade of green that matched her eyes. To imagine it on the shoulders of another woman, some two-dime starlet photographed at the opening of a picture, made her blood boil.

"I can't very well let you have it if you will not wear it."

"Maybe I will wear it," she said, raising her chin defiantly.

He chuckled. She grabbed the dress again and held it up, tilting her head to one side and the other. She wished she had a bigger dressing room and a bigger mirror so she could view herself from different angles.

"But really Rhett, I can't go on accepting these gifts although you are awfully kind," she said.

"I'm not kind. I'm just tempting you. I never give anything without expecting something in return. Now, I always get paid."

Now he'd try to take some liberty, she thought, excitement filling her. She schooled her features to appear calm and composed.

"If you think I'll marry you just to pay for the dress, I won't," she said.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not a marrying man."

Scarlett scoffed, fixing her pretty green eyes on his reflection.

"Well, I won't kiss you for it, either."

She cast down her eyes and waited, lips pursed. She heard his sure footsteps across the room and suddenly he was standing before her, tilting her chin up. She closed her eyes, readying herself for a kiss.

"Open your eyes and look at me," he ordered.

She did, confused. He looked down at her and though she didn't really _like_ Rhett, she had to admit he was pretty good looking and might have been a movie star himself if he'd wanted to. Why he didn't want to mystified her. There was only one thing she craved more than the love of a certain writer called Ashley Wilkes. And that was the limelight.

He stepped back.

"No, I don't think I will kiss you — although you need kissing badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how."

"And I suppose you are the proper person?" she muttered dismissively.

"I might be, if the right moment ever came."

"You're a conceited, black- hearted varmint, Rhett Butler, and I don't know why I let you come and see me," she said, carefully pronouncing each word, finally glad for the elocution lessons Doc Meade had paid for.

"Could it be because of the presents?" he asked innocently.

He grinned and she felt like shoving the precious dress in his face, telling him to take his silks and presents with him. But she would not. Instead, she glared at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Another vignette.

* * *

**Dance the Night Away**

_1948_

Damn it! This was all Charles Hamilton's fault!

Scarlett sat behind the booth and shot daggers at the young women on the dance floor. This was the charity ball of the year, the photographers were taking tons of pictures of the ladies dancing, and Scarlett wasn't going to be in a single one of them.

It was all his fault! Why did Charles have to come down with a bout of measles? She'd only started dating him because it might get her more press coverage and she thought it would make Ashley jealous, but he'd ruined her summer.

"Why, if it isn't Scarlett O' Hara, standing all lonesome," a familiar voice said.

She rolled her eyes. Perfect. Of all the people in the world.

"Mr. Butler," she muttered, watching as the tall, broad-shouldered man sauntered towards her.

"Why aren't you dancing?"

"Charles isn't here."

"Ah, yes, the latest issue of _Photoplay_ informed me that Studio Six had a new pair of lovebirds. It was quite touching, both of you, eating ice cream. But I still don't understand why you aren't dancing. I thought this was supposed to be some sort of lady auction."

"It's fundraiser," she snapped at him. "And if I'm not dancing it's because, as you put it, I'm one half of the lovebirds. Doc Meade won't have me dancing with any other man when I'm dating Charles. We are, after all, desperately in love."

"Damn lies, the lot of them," he replied amicably.

"What do you know?"

"Admit it. You don't like Charles Hamilton very much."

She knew very well she should keep her mouth shut, but this was a hard feat with Rhett. Besides, she was rather irritated.

"His movies are terrible, nothing more than cheap copies of Mickey Rooney's flicks. He can't act to save his life and all his money is managed by his dad, what's there to like?"

Rhett chuckled. She found the sound comforting. She was a young actress, meant to embody virginal heroines and parade in _Movie Teen_ magazine, "chock full of articles for teen-age movie fans!" as the tagline went. Her interviews were all pre-scripted. Her persona sculpted by the studio. Her public image was very different from her stormy, temperamental self and she seldom had a chance to speak her mind. But Rhett didn't give a damn about press releases and pre-packaged charisma. Around him, she could say what she pleased.

"Well then, why don't you forget about that young fool and dance a tune?" he asked.

"I already told you. The studio suits would have a fit. I wasn't even supposed to be here tonight."

"But you are. So?"

Scarlett gave him a little grunt, her eyes fixing on Melanie Wilkes who was having her picture taken next to Cary Grant. Why, she'd be all over the papers in the morning! She didn't even deserve it! She was wearing the drabbest dress, her hair pinned back in a bun. America's Sweetheart, her ass, Scarlett O'Hara had no idea what anybody saw in that simpleton.

_Well, Ashley saw something_, a devilish little voice inside her head said and she narrowed her eyes, hoping Melanie would trip and break her neck.

"Oh, let me be."

"Ah, well, then I shall go. Didn't peg you for a coward, though."

Her eyes sparked dangerously at that. How dare he. Coward, she? Why, she'd show him.

"Come along," she said harshly, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him onto the dance floor.

Scarlett felt numerous pairs of eyes upon them, but she dismissed them, busy following Rhett's lead. He was a good dancer and he knew it. Was there anything he was _not_ good at? Really, it was unfair that a single man be imbued with such charm, especially when he was such a crass fellow as Rhett Butler.

There was the blinding flash of a light bulb and another, and another, as the photographers took her picture, and when the song ended and she stepped to the side, the reporters came after her, asking her her name.

"Scarlett O'Hara," she said, smiling prettily. "Like the color."

They scribbled in their tiny pads. Rhett gave her an amused look.

In the morning, the Entertainment pages were emblazoned with a photo of her and Rhett dancing. The caption read: Scarlett O'Hara, Studio Six starlet, takes a break from ministering to her sick boyfriend, Charles Hamilton, to dance with theater producer Rhett Butler.

"That should say Studio Six star," she muttered, but really, the photo was very flattering and all the other pictures on the page were dwarfed by it.

She had the thrilling sensation that she was dancing upon a knife's edge. That is, until she got the call from Doc Meade wondering what the hell she was doing cavorting with Rhett Butler for all the world to see.

Damn it! It was all Rhett Butler's fault!


	4. Chapter 4

**If the Shoe Fits**

_1947 _

Oh, the shame of it! To have flung herself into the arms of a man only to be summarily rejected. And over whom? That silly little chit, Melanie! She wasn't half as pretty as Scarlett and yet she got all the major roles and now she also had Ashley!

"Dating Melanie, hu?" she said. "Well, damn that stupid cow!"

With a force she did not think she possessed she grabbed the canvas chair that had the name MELANIE HAMILTON printed on the back and tossed it towards the wall of the fake mansion, all plywood and illusions.

"Careful there, you almost got me," said a smooth voice.

Scarlett watched, startled as that fellow she'd seen earlier stood up, apparently having lain upon a couch this whole time. He had heard everything, her whole conversation.

"Why you...this sound stage is closed!" she yelled.

"I know that. That is why I was taking a nap," he said, sounding chipper. "Hey, you are one of the Studio Six new teen idols, aren't you? Studio Six's answer to Judy Garland. Didn't recognize you at first, seeing as you aren't wearing the pigtails that you have in your promotional pictures."

Her face felt hot as she spoke and she realized she was blushing an awful shade of crimson. He was making fun of her!

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I was invited to the studio party and decided to take a tour of the facilities. It's proving to be very instructive."

He placed his hands in his pockets and carelessly walked to her side. Up close she saw that he was not bad looking, had the air of a pirate and reminded her somewhat of Errol Flynn, who everyone said was a cad. She was sure this man was also a cad, his smile very white, his eyes bold and black, his dark hair slicked back. There was a cool recklessness in his face and a cynical humor in his mouth as he smiled at her, and Scarlett caught her breath.

"You should have made yourself known," she muttered.

"And miss your soliloquy? Why, you're a better actress than I thought! I had expected another of Doc Meade's wan, silly teen queens who can't recite a line to save their lives but you have the aplomb of a Shakesperian actress."

"That wasn't acting," she hissed.

"Well, it was a damn good performance, one way or the other. But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Viper. Idiot. She wanted to unleash a torrent of filthy words against him but her upbringing - she was a former debutant, now one of Studio Six's prim and proper youth performers - chained her. She thought of the best thing she could come up with, considering the circumstances.

"You are no gentleman."

"And you miss are no lady. Don't think that I hold that against you. Ladies have never held any charm for me."

"First you take a low, common advantage of me, then you insult me!"

"I meant it as a compliment. And I hope to see more of you one day when you're free of the spell of the elegant Mr. Wilkes. He doesn't strike me as half good enough for a girl of your...what was it...your passion for living?" he said with an exaggerated drawl.

"You aren't fit to wipe his shoes!"

He laughed heartily.

"And you were going to hate him for the rest of your life."

If she could, she would have grabbed another chair and smashed it on his back. As if he could read her thoughts, he laughed even harder. Scarlett turned around, furious, and tried to make a hasty retreat only to find herself stumbling as her heel snapped.

She tottered, almost falling flat on her face, but a strong arm quickly steadied her. Him! Why, him! She blushed an even deeper shade of crimson and shoved him away. Fuming, she took off her shoes and walked out barefoot, her head held high, the man's laughter booming around the sound stage.

Oh, one day, one day she was going to make him pay for this humiliation!


	5. Chapter 5

**The Rules of the Game**

_1950_

"Well, is it true?" she asked.

Her hands lay neatly folded over the script which she had been reading before Rhett Butler unceremoniously plopped himself into the chair across from her. He had a nasty habit of waltzing in and out of her life, suddenly knocking on her dressing room, finding her at a premiere, or just, like now, seeing her having her breakfast at Le Chateau and inviting himself to eat with her. His presence was a constant source of irritation and excitement, though today it was decidedly more exciting than irritating because she'd just glanced at the paper that morning and found a picture of Belle Watling arm in arm with Rhett. Fine, it had been more than a glance. She had stared at the photograph for a good fifteen minutes, critically gauging the worth of the woman and determining that she was much too old and faded to amount to anything. Bah, why Belle was probably inching on forty.

Still, she was curious.

"What, my pet?" Rhett asked.

"Oh, you know what. Are you or are you not dating Belle Watling?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity."

"Killed the cat."

"Oh, you're impossible," Scarlett said, taking a sip of her orange juice and eyeing her script, though she wasn't one bit interested in it. It was another of the studio's boring period pieces and she was to portray the sister of the hero who died tragically in the second reel.

She waited for him to speak, but Rhett did not seem the least interested in answering her question, instead sipping his coffee with infuriating calmness. Scarlett, never the patient one, gave him a mean smirk.

"She's not even a real redhead and she has a reputation of being incredibly easy."

"I know," he replied.

For a moment her smile held, then faded. The low, pleased rumbling of his voice embodied the two words with meaning. He knew! That she was not a redhead? Suddenly she remembered a joke the stagehands had been saying one day about the curtains not matching the…oh, lord! And he also knew she was easy! Why, Scarlett could almost phantom exactly how he'd come across that bit of information. She blushed, absolutely mortified. As usual, Rhett seemed to read her thoughts.

"Come, come, Scarlett, just because you have a morality clause in your contract doesn't mean we all do."

"You are a disgusting leech," she shot back.

"Don't tell me that if dear Ashley Wilkes offered himself to you, you wouldn't jump on that offer – and him – in a heartbeat."

"Pig. Just because you are out cavorting with that old whore doesn't mean all men have the same thing on their minds. Why she's a hag and wasn't pretty even she was young," she said through gritted teeth and raised her script, thinking to slap Rhett with it.

"Calm down or I'll think you are jealous."

"Jealous?" Scarlett said putting the script down. "That would be the day!"

"I'll admit, dear Scarlett, that Belle is not as young as she used to be."

"Hmmm."

"But experience counts for something, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know. I'm not keen on dating women old enough to be my mother."

"No. You are not keen on dating anyone except for the bland pre-packaged actors the studio sees fit to toss your way for pre-arranged photo shoots."

"Now who's jealous?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm not jealous. Just concerned."

"Concerned?"

"That you'll turn into a boring old maid."

"Don't worry about me."

"What does your morality clause say, anyway?"

The clause stated she was not to commit any act that would bring her into public hatred, contempt, scorn, or ridicule. That she would not shock, insult or offend the community or ridicule public morals or decency. It was the most ridiculous paragraph every committed to paper, but she quietly tiptoed the line of decency.

"I don't know," she lied.

"A little birdie told me it regulates the length of your skirts. To the precise inch."

"Go jump off a cliff," she told him and grabbed her script, turning her head and focusing carefully on the words.

"As you wish, just remember that no one ever won a game playing by the rules."

She stretched her hand, knocking her glass of orange juice all over Rhett's lap. He looked into her eyes, lips drawn, showing her his teeth.

"Oh, I'm so sorry mister," she said mockingly.

"You're not even a tad sorry," he said, grabbing his hat and putting it on. "And that's the way I like it."

He sauntered out of the restaurant, head held high like a prince. Scarlett read her script intently for about two minutes before looking down and regarding her skirt critically.


	6. Chapter 6

I have to ask, is anyone reading this? Should I keep writing these? Thanks!

* * *

**Always a First Time**

_1951_

When he saw her lounging by the covered swimming pool, his cool, composed mask slipped. He'd been away for the past couple of months, but he'd glimpsed her photo in the newspapers, chuckling at her changed appearance. Scarlett must have finally tired of the tyrannical grip of the studio because in all the photos she was flaunting sexy dresses, makeup, and even a new haircut. She'd shorn her long locks, cropped her hair short, a very modern style. He guessed that Studio Six must be having a fit with their former "child" star who'd decided to turn into a sexpot.

He'd been drinking at the bar when he casually heard they were shooting photos of Scarlett O' Hara by the pool and decided to say hello and appraise her new look. But though he had expected a different appearance, he didn't quite expect...well...that.

Scarlett was all alone. There was no one else by the pool, probably on account of the photo shoot, though the cameramen seemed to have left already.

She was wearing a bikini. He'd seen women in France in similar outfits, but it was still very much a risque move. Especially when it showed the navel. Which this did.

Rhett had a soft spot for Scarlett. He'd had it for a long time. But she was a girl, a very pretty girl, but a girl non the less. He liked to bribe her with gifts and meet her at the odd premiere; he liked her laughter. He never allowed himself to think of her as anything but a girl, though. A girl he teased and spoiled. Now, however, he was aware that Scarlett was a woman.

It made him very uncomfortable to think of her as that, of the power she might wield if he saw her a grown up, his equal.

"Are you going to just stand there and gawk, or did you actually want to speak to me?" she asked, turning her head and glancing at him.

"You have a very inflated view of yourself, my dear."

"Pish posh. What are you doing here, Rhett? Are you stalking me again?"

"Now who has the inflated view of herself, hmm?" he asked, glad for her casual banter. This was familiar territory. He could wage this battle, and win it, with ease. "I'm staying at this hotel and heard you were here. I thought I'd say hi to you and your lovely entourage. Speaking of entourage, where are your handlers?"

He looked around, exaggerating his expression. He was trying to make fun of her, though truth be told it was odd to find Scarlett on her own. The studio kept a short leash on its young performers. Whenever Rhett chanced to see Scarlett at the studio her personal assistant, Prissy, was always nearby. And, of course, he tended to run into Scarlett at public functions where they were constantly surrounded by actors, assistants, publicists and the like.

"I was doing a photo shoot and sent Prissy away. If she saw me like this, she'd blabber to Doc Meade and put an end to it."

"I can see why."

"You've turned into a moralist, have you?"

"No, it's just not your usual outfit. I like it, though. I like the hair, too."

"Do you, Rhett?" she said, eyes sparkling.

"I love it," he replied. "But I'd like to take you to dinner so you can delight me with tales of your latest antics. What do you say?"

"I say no. I have the pool booked all to myself for another hour and I intend to spend it swimming."

"I don't see you in the water, Scarlett."

She arched an eyebrow at that and effortlessly plunged into the water, bobbing up a few seconds later with a little smirk on her face. She looked absolutely gorgeous, hair all slick and wet.

"You can be a good boy and fetch me another drink, and I'll be out in an hour."

"I'm not your servant to be fetching you anything, my pet," he said irritated by the tone of voice she was using. "No, I think I'd rather pass the time swimming, too."

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't have a swimsuit," she replied.

"Don't need one."

He took off his suit and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Why, you can't!"

"You might want to turn away," he said. "For modesty's sake."

Scarlett turned her back to him and he chuckled as he jumped into the water. He swam towards her, stopping at her side.

"You can look at me now."

"Who says I want to look at you."

"Come Scarlett, you don't have to be afraid of me," he said, laughing softly.

"I'm not afraid of you, Rhett Butler, or of any man in shoe leather!" she cried, but he noticed that her voice was a bit shaky.

"An admirable sentiment."

She looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. He was delighted at her anger, though he paused, suddenly concerned.

"Scarlett, you do like me, don't you?" he asked.

He'd never bothering asking as much. He just took it for granted. They seemed to have such a perfectly good time when they were together.

She seemed to relax at the question.

"Well, sometimes," she answered. "When you aren't acting like a varmint."

He laughed again.

"I think you like me because I am a varmint. You've known so few varmints in your sheltered life that my very difference holds a quaint charm for you."

She brought her hand up, jabbing a finger at his chest.

"That's not true! I like nice men."

"You mean men you can always bully. It's merely a matter of definition. But no matter."

He caught her hand between his. Scarlett glared at him.

"But you do like me. We are friends, of a sort, are we not?"

"I don't think we could ever be friends. Not unless you mended your manners considerably."

"And started abiding by the morality clauses written by stodgy studio heads? I told you, love, no one who plays by the rules wins the game."

She took a sharp intake of breath at his words. Her eyes were cautious.

"What do you want?"

"As I said, we are friends and I think you like me despite your protests. I'm not afraid to say I like you quite a bit. When we met, well, you were just a girl, but now that you are older I find myself-"

"Are you asking me to marry you?" she said, rudely interrupting him.

He dropped her hand and laughed so loudly she shrank back.

"Good Lord, no! I was going to ask if you'd like to go up to my room."

He expected outrage, but Scarlett shook her head dismissively.

"What would I get out of that except a venereal disease?"

And then her jaw dropped in horror as she realized what she had said, green eyes wide. He laughed.

"That's why I like you! You are the only frank woman I know. Most women would have simply slapped me instead of articulating such a wonderful answer."

Scarlett's face was red with shame. She climbed out of the swimming pool. Rhett followed her, unable to contain his laughter.

"Scarlett, wait..."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around and with out warning punched him in the face. Rhett stumbled back into the water with a big splash.

"Well, that was a first," he muttered, a hand pressed against his nose.


	7. Chapter 7

Reviews are writing fuel.

* * *

**Seeing Red**

_1952_

He was calmly smoking a cigarette, leaning back against a plush chair. Smoke curled in front of his face. He was calm as a clam, as cooly composed as usual. She tried to maintain her own composure but she found herself sitting at the edge of her seat, waiting, breathless.

"Tara? What would I do with a movie theater chain?"

"Oh, Rhett, you'd make money. There's still money to be made in movies!"

"The industry is in turmoil, Scarlett. Have you taken a look at RKO lately? Not just RKO. Everyone."

Yes, of course she knew the industry was in turmoil, the studio system was dying, just as he had predicted. The antitrust lawsuit had changed the landscape. Without the level of control studios once had banks were now reluctant to finance films. As a result, the studios were cutting corners. Her own contract with Studio Six was being cancelled. What was worse, prices for exhibiting movies had gone up and if movie theaters wanted to book films, they had to pay a lot more. Her father's theaters were floundering and her own movie career seemed to be, if not at an end, on hold for the time being. Yes, things were dire otherwise she would have never walked into Rhett Butler's suite. It was humiliating.

"You're a risk taker! You've told me so! Why, that's why you came to Hollywood! To see if you could branch out from theater and diversify your assets!"

"And I never thought you listened to me," he said with a smirk, rising. "Fancy a drink, Scarlett?"

He moved behind the bar and grabbed a couple of glasses. She studied him, studied that dark hair and dark eyes and his crass smirk.

The white wine seemed to sparkle as he handed the glass to her. Scarlett pressed her lips together, grimacing. She stood up, firm, like a soldier.

"I'll sleep with you."

Rhett, who had been sipping his wine, let out an uncomfortable cough and pressed a hand against his mouth. He stared at her.

"You what?"

"You heard me."

"I heard you. I just don't believe it. Why, not so long ago you socked me good for daring to propose that same thing."

_I'd sock you again if I had half the chance_, she thought.

"I didn't need your money then," she said as she took off her suit jacket.

"How things change. It's a bit offensive, though, don't you think? Makes me think I've lost my natural charm when all you want is my money rather than my body."

"Shut up."

She began unbuttoning her blouse.

Rhett held out his hands in front of him in a placating motion. "Scarlett, hold on."

She didn't pay attention to him. She simply continued undoing the buttons, tossing the shirt away, leaving her only in her bra. It was the most humiliating moment of her life, but she couldn't bring herself to blush.

"Scarlett, I can't."

"Oh, don't tell me you suddenly developed a conscience!" she snapped at him.

"No, you don't understand. I can't give you the money."

She had started undoing the zipper on her skirt and paused at his words, freezing.

"You won't give me the money?"

"I can't give you the money," he grunted, hurrying forward and retrieving her shirt from the floor, holding it out to her. "Come on, get dressed."

"Why not?" she asked putting the blouse back on.

"I'm under investigation by the HUAC. If I give you the money, they'll come after you."

Scarlett's mouth fell wide open, her fingers tangled together. "You're a Commie, Rhett?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "There's not a Communist bone in my body Scarlett, but I have friends who are and I'll be damned if I'm going to grovel before that Red-baiting pig called Hoover. However, I don't think you'd like to be labelled a Commie sympathizer."

A Commie sympathizer! No, she'd be blacklisted! Scarlett had never given a damn about politics, but she was aware of what was going on around Hollywood. People's credits were being omitted from movies, directors and screenwriters were fired without a warning, actors dropped from lucrative deals. Lawyers like Bartley Crum, who defended Commies, had lost almost their entire clientele.

Scarlett stared at Rhett, her shirt half undone. She couldn't believe it! He had been her last hope and he was being investigated by the HUAC!

Oh, she wanted to cry.

No, not cry.

Hit him. Again. Hard.

He had not warned her! He had not dared to tell her beforehand! He allowed her into this hotel room when they could be watched by God-knew-who!

He placed a hand on her shoulder and she slapped it away.

"Take your hands off me, you pig!" You knew what I was going to say before I started. You knew you wouldn't lend me the money and yet you let me go on! You let me take off my blouse!"

"For a minute there, I had a mind to let you take off everything," he replied.

"Of course you would! Because you are swine! A hog."

"When did you ever buy yourself a thesaurus," he muttered.

She grabbed her jacket and tried to muster as much dignity as she could as she headed towards the nearest exit, head held high.

"Cheer up," he said. "I might end up in jail."

"I hope you do!" she yelled, slamming the door with such violence the room seemed to groan.


	8. Chapter 8

Reviews keep me going

* * *

**There Ain't No Sanity Clause**

_1951_

Melanie's home was so full of tinsel and Christmas cheer it made Scarlett want to vomit. She elbowed her way around the party guests with a determined look on her face. Ashley had just returned from a two-month stint in Boston where he'd been working as a script doctor for a lousy movie. She had missed him terribly and could not wait to speak to him.

She found him standing by the chimney, alone, and quickly maneuvered herself to his side.

"Ashley, you're back," she said.

He smiled at her immediately. "Scarlett, you came. You look so lovely."

"Oh, you flatter me," she said, squeezing his arm. "How was the East Coast?"

"Dreadful. Remind me not to leave California for an extended period of time again."

"I will," she promised.

She was well aware that Ashley hated pounding scripts. His real love were novels and he intended to write one. If he had not yet done so, Scarlett reasoned, it was because he lacked the proper inspiration. After all, who could be inspired by an insipid little ninny like Melanie?

"Scarlett, you came!"

_Speaking of the devil_, Scarlett thought.

"Melanie," she said, glancing at the young woman in her simple dress, her hair in a bun. Melanie was so plain. Whatever prettiness her face may have held was utterly destroyed by her matronly hairdo and scrawny figure.

"I wouldn't have missed your party for the world," Scarlett said.

"You are so kind. I'm sure there are much more exciting parties in town, but still you've come to see me. How kind of you," Melanie smiled and looked around. "Mr. Clift isn't with you?"

"I'll catch up with Monty some other time," Scarlett said dismissively.

She had told Melanie that her date for the night was Montgomery Clift, but this was just a lie to make sure Melanie wouldn't try to pair her off with some oaf. She didn't want to be distracted by anyone when Ashley was around. Unfortunately Ashley now seemed deeply interested in the idiocies his wife was talking about. Scarlett turned her head and utterly bored stared at a picture of the dearly departed Charles Hamilton. He had died a few years ago. A car accident, right after the measles. How anyone could have such bad luck she didn't know. Because she had been dating him that summer she had to look suitably crushed when it happened.

She wished Melanie had been the one who had died. Ugh.

"I still miss him too," Melanie said kindly.

Scarlett snapped her head up to look at Melanie. While she had been staring at the picture Ashley had drifted away. Damn it.

"Yes, well, I'll have to take some flowers to his grave," she said automatically and regretted it at once because she knew Melanie wouldn't stop talking about her "kindness" for a month.

"You're so good."

"Thank you. You have flour on your dress," Scarlett, said glancing critically at Melanie.

"Silly me. I've been baking all morning." Melanie smiled warmly. "Oh, Scarlett, would you like to see the pies I made?"

Before Scarlett had a chance to protest, Melanie had taken her by the arm and dragged her towards the kitchen. Scarlett decided it was better to comply than try to oppose Melanie at this. She could be such a stubborn woman.

They walked into the kitchen and Scarlett regarded the pies sitting on the kitchen table with a raised eyebrow. Melanie had baked enough pies to feed an entire army. No wonder she didn't have time to look in the mirror.

"Are you trying to open a bakery?" Scarlett asked.

"Scarlett, you're so funny," Melanie said, and then her face grew giddy with excitement. "Scarlett, I have a secret to tell you."

"What, your pie recipe?" she muttered.

"I'm going to have a baby. Isn't it wonderful? You must not tell Ashley. I want it to be a New Year's gift."

Scarlett couldn't help opening her mouth and gasping. Surprise gave wave to fury. For a moment she thought of grabbing one of the pies and slamming it against Melanie's grinning face. The sound of the kitchen door opening behind her stopped Scarlett from doing anything rash.

"Mr. Butler" Melanie cried. "It's so good to see you."

Scarlett cursed inwardly as the man swept past her and gave Melanie a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you for the kind invitation, Mrs. Wilkes, but I only came to drop that check we spoke about over the phone."

"No, you have to stay for a drink. He's giving a donation to the Widows and Orphans Fund, Scarlett, isn't he kind?" Melanie said.

"He's a saint," Scarlett said flatly.

Scarlett glared daggers at him. Melanie meanwhile was looking at the check Rhett had given her with an ecstatic face.

"I'll have to take this upstairs, for safe keeping, otherwise I'll misplace it. Mr. Butler, can you keep Scarlett company? She doesn't have a date tonight."

_Damn it_, Scarlett thought as Melanie waltzed out of the kitchen, oblivious to her discomfort. Rhett leaned against the door frame and grinned at her in that cheeky way that he always employed.

"No date? Melanie had told me Montgomery Clift was coming over."

He was wearing not only a suit jacket, but a vest, both a dark gray with elegant pinstripes. He carried a camel coat under one arm. Rhett always looked like he was worth about a million dollars and she hated him for that because despite her utter irritation at the man she always admired his good taste. Daddy had moved the family to San Francisco when she was seven Scarlett, yet realized there was still something provincial about her. Rhett just helped to remind her she was not quite as refined as she might have wanted to be.

Scarlett gave Rhett a dismissive look.

"He's busy."

"Good."

"If you'll excuse me," she said, drifting past him, intent on getting back to the party.

"Don't tell me you're still mad at me, Scarlett."

"Why shouldn't I be? After that proposition," she hissed.

"I seem to recall you punched me pretty good. Shouldn't I be the one upset?"

"I'll punch you again if you don't let me be."

"And I bought you a Christmas gift," Rhett said with a deep, mock sigh.

Scarlett eyed him narrowly. She didn't want to forgive him. Then again Rhett always did bring her the most wonderful presents. Greed and pride warred within her, greed getting the better part of her, as it often did.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Will I be forgiven?"

"Depends on the gift."

"You are such a mercenary," he said with a merry laugh.

Rhett reached into his jacket's pocket and pulled out a box. Scarlett tore the wrapping paper and opened it to reveal a beautiful bracelet with tiny golden charms. It was darling. Scarlett could not help the girlish squeal that escaped her lips.

"Help me put it on, will you?" she said.

"Gladly," he replied.

He placed the bracelet around her wrist, carefully clipping it on.

"Does this mean we are friends again?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, all her anger forgotten as she touched the pretty little trinket he'd bestowed her.

"Then perhaps you'll give me a thank you kiss. After all, it's tradition."

She flashed at angry look at him, raising her head defiantly, her lips curled in an unpleasant snarl.

"Why, you, what kind of tradition do you think—"

"Look up."

She did. And found herself staring at the mistletoe Melanie had placed above the door, part of her stupid decorations. Scarlett snorted defiantly.

"Just because there's a weed tied with a bow above my head doesn't mean I owe you a kiss."

"Forgive me. I didn't want to intimidate you."

"You're not intimidating me," she said, and quickly wished she hadn't sounded quite so breathless when she spoke.

"No?" he said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

He must think her such a girl; a girl whose knees would turn to jelly as soon as some man said the word "kiss." Well, she was no child and he was nothing to her. To reinforce this notion she stood on the tip of her toes and planted the slightest peck on his lips.

"There," she said teasingly.

He stared at her with his dark, piercing eyes. He looked so serious all of a sudden. For a moment she believed he was going to try to kiss her proper. The idea made her shiver and she thought it wouldn't be so bad if he did, and she leaned forward, inching towards him.

_Why, am I going mad?_ she thought, alarmed.

But then he smiled broadly and gamely grabbed her hand, planting a kiss on it.

"Will you keep me company for a minute or two?" he asked, offering her his arm.

"Maybe for two," she said, glad that he was now back to his usual chummy tone of voice.

"Make it three and I'll take you out on New Year's eve."

"As if I didn't have places to go that day!"

"Break my heart into a million pieces, won't you?"

She loved it when he joked like this. The world seemed so light when he did. It was enough to almost make her forget about Melanie and her pregnancy, scrub all her worries in an instant.

Almost, but not quite.


	9. Chapter 9

Please review! It keeps me going.

* * *

**Waking up in Vegas**

_1953_

She burst forward, draping her arms around him, ardor overwhelming her.

"My darling, my darling," she cried as they embraced passionately.

She closed her eyes.

"Cut! Well done, it's a wrap for the day, people," yelled the director.

Scarlett opened her eyes. She and her co-star traded a couple of words before she stepped off the set. She walked past the cameras and the lights, dodging production assistants and crew members. Rhett was waiting for her, standing by a reflector, and acknowledged her with a nod of his head.

"A very nice performance Mrs. Kennedy," he said. "Why, I could almost believe you are a half-decent actress."

"Pfff. If they gave me something more than tripe to read maybe I'd be better," she replied.

"That won't happen unless you tell them to."

"Christ, Rhett, it's my first movie in over a year and the first with this studio. I can't force them to give me anything better."

"Then don't complain about your lot in life."

Scarlett frowned. She knew Rhett was right when he talked about increasing her star power and truly taking the reins of her career, but it was very easy for him to speak. He was filthy rich and could do as he wanted. She, on the other hand, was still very much in a vulnerable position. Her hasty marriage to Frank Kennedy had provided her father's business with a cash injection and stopped the bank from taking her parents' home, but Frank was definitely not filthy rich. One more reason to hate Rhett Butler. Only today she didn't want her hatred to show. After all, she needed him.

"Oh, let's just go," she said. "It's going to be a long ride."

"Am I still to understand you want me to drive you to Las Vegas?" he asked.

"Yes. Why would I change my mind? We talked about it over the phone."

"I was just wondering what Mr. Kennedy thinks of our little trip."

"He thinks nothing of it. Do you have the car or not?"

"I do."

She didn't want to use that tone of voice with him but it was impossible for her to keep her composure with Rhett, especially when she was still angry with him. She blamed him completely for her current, miserable situation. She was married to an old, ugly man and it was Rhett's fault. If he hadn't gotten himself in trouble due to his stupid Commie friends, he might have been able to lend her the money she needed.

She shook her head. Rhett's white convertible was a thing of beauty and the sight of it made her hate him even more. Ugh, how could a single man have so much cash while she was scrounging to get by?

They jumped into the car and off they went. Not much time had elapsed when Rhett spoke to her, a smirk on his lips.

"How's your sister doing?"

"Which one?"

"Sue."

"She's fine."

"What did she think when you stole Frank from under her nose."

_She tried to scratch my face off_, she thought.

"She said nothing of it."

His eyes danced when he heard the lie. "How unselfish of her."

"I've marked the place we are going on the map," she said taking out said map and slamming it upon the dashboard. "Excuse me while I rest my eyes for a bit. I trust you can keep your damn mouth shut while I rest?"

He guffawed at that.

Scarlett didn't really intend to fall asleep, but she'd been up at the crack of dawn for today's scene. She had a woeful total of three scenes in the whole picture, playing a femme fatale who gets killed off in the third act, something she was still bitter about. At any rate, she was very tired and by the time Rhett clasped her shoulder and shook her awake she realized that they were in Nevada. Actually, they were in the outskirts of Las Vegas.

"We are here," Rhett said. "Which is apparently nowhere."

He was right. All around them there was nothing but blue skies and desert sands. Despite the bleak view, Scarlett felt thrilled and quickly jumped out of the car.

"Yes, we are here," she said.

"Why exactly did you force me to drive you here, then? I admit the secretive tone of voice you employed held a certain appeal, but I am utterly lost to what you intended to show me."

"The future."

Rhett thrust his hands into his pockets and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Don't you see, Rhett? Land!"

"And?"

"Don't be obtuse. Look, there's this huge plot for sale and it's going to be worth millions once Vegas develops more. And it will develop. The Sands just opened last December and it won't be the last hotel setting up in this town. It's going to continue to develop and that means people. People who will need homes and shops and services. They'll need land for that."

She spread her arms emphatically, as if trying to encompass the whole stretch of land she hoped to buy.

"What on earth do you know about real estate?"

"I'm married to someone who works in that business, ain't I?"

"I still don't understand why you want me to look at this piece of…um, future."

"Frank told me about this opportunity, but he's too chicken to attempt this purchase. That's where you come in Rhett. Lend me the money, I'll give you a half-interest in it."

"I have no interest in Nevada."

"We can make loads of money. Or I'll pay you interest on the loan-let's see, what is good interest?"

"Fifty per cent is considered very fine."

"Fifty-oh, but you are joking! Stop laughing, you ass. I'm serious."

"That's why I'm laughing. I wonder if anyone but me realizes what goes on in that head back of your deceptively sweet face."

"Come on, what do you say?"

Rhett shrugged. He wasn't wearing a suit like he did on most days. Instead he had donned a t-shirt and khakis, probably to withstand the Nevada heat. The result was that he looked much younger than he usually did, almost boyish. She realized just then that she had no idea how old Rhett was, though he was definitely older than her. Twelve? Fourteen years her senior? She'd always treated him as her peer, possibly because he'd never looked down at her as though she were a baby, like many others did.

_He respects me_, she thought. _He jokes about me, but he respects me_.

That was such an alien thought she didn't hear what he said.

"Come again?"

"I said poor Frank! What is he going to say when you tell him you've bought the land yourself right out from under him? And how are you going to explain my lending you the money? He'll know you didn't pick it off a bush."

Scarlett had given no thought to this. She went from being elated, realizing Rhett was actually going to extend her the funds she needed, to crestfallen.

"He knows you are my friend," she said.

"Friend, am I? Well, that's true, but it still won't look proper, that pig Rhett Butler giving money to Mrs. Kennedy just like that."

She perked up quickly deciding she didn't give a fig about Frank and shrugged.

"Proper folks don't have money."

"Don't you ever think of anything but money?"

"No," she replied frankly, turning hard green eyes upon him. "And if you'd been through what I have, you wouldn't either. I've found out that money is the most important thing in the world and, as God is my witness, I don't ever intend to be without it again."

The sun was beginning to set, bathing the land in hues of red and gold. It was a beautiful sight, but she had little use for beauty. She was thinking about money and what she'd do with it. She'd ensure Tara was safe, the theater chain preserved. She'd buy herself a real Hollywood mansion, like a star deserved. And she'd be decked in all the finery of a star, furs and diamonds and the like. She'd known true fear when they'd taken away her contract and her father's business had gone to hell. She couldn't tell Rhett how bad things had gotten, but they'd gotten bad. There was no worst feeling than having the people from the bank wheeling all your possessions out. Having to depend on the charity of the others. The humiliation of seeing her father's name in the gossip columns. Ruined, they said.

But they were not ruined. This had been a temporary setback. The theater chain was going to be bigger and better than ever. As for her film career…they'd eat their words soon, very soon. Former starlet? Bah. She was going to be the biggest actress in all of damn Hollywood. And when she was she'd tell everyone who had ever been mean to her to go to hell.

She made a mental list of her enemies. Hedda Hopper and India Wilkes, two Hollywood gossips who had happily called her a "train wreck" of a performer and wrote many inches of poison about her marriage to Frank. The suits at Studio Six who cancelled her contract. The bankers her father had known all their lives, who wouldn't give them a penny when they needed it. Most of all, Rhett. Yes, one day she'd sink her stiletto heels into his back, send him packing.

The pleasure in the thought brought a sparkle into her green eyes and a half-smile to her lips.

Rhett smiled too.

"You're a pretty person, Scarlett," he said. "Especially when you are meditating devilment. And just for the sight of that dimple I'll buy you a dozen plots of land if you want them."

She chuckled and leaned her back against the convertible, arms crossed. Rhett also rested his back against the car. They both surveyed the land quietly, side by side. It was one of the few moments when they were in complete harmony.


End file.
